Chapter 10 Lincoln #2
“I wanted to work in the yard for a bit.” Pushing the heavy wooden door open, she steps inside and glances back to make sure I follow.
“It was windy, and I felt like an exhibitionist every time I bent over a garden bed.” Closing the door behind me and holding her breath, she hesitantly reaches across and flicks the switch.
When light bursts across the room, chasing the shadows away and illuminating her beautiful face, her breath escapes on an exhale of surprised delight.
“Oh, thank God!” She cups her cheeks as they warm with a rosy tint.
“I’ve never been so happy to have light. ”
“Imagine how Thomas Edison felt.” Switching off my phone’s flashlight and catching Aster’s name on the screen, I scowl at his demand for an update.
But I ignore it for now, slip the device into my pocket, and rearrange my features.
Fuck, I hope Nova Nichols isn’t as observant as her brother wanted her to be.
“Kinda heartbroken that I fixed it so easily.”
“Really?” She lowers her hands, and with them, her smile. “Why’s that a bad thing?”
“Because now we’re done, and dinner’s probably not even close to leaving the restaurant. If I took longer, then it would be a matter of ‘well, I’m here, we may as well eat.’ But since it didn’t, staying when I’m not needed feels a little rude.”
She rolls her eyes and snags my wrist, tugging me through the kitchen.
“I paid good money for two burritos and a bowl of spicy fries. If you leave now and waste my money, that would be rude.” She strides across the hall and into the living room.
Flipping on another light, she hits me with a beautiful grin, like she thinks each new lit globe is akin to magic floating through the air.
“We can watch TV,” she decides. “Wait for dinner. Reyes is usually quick, and delivery is only another five minutes once the driver has it. Eat fast,” she teases, releasing my arm and snatching up the television remote. “Then you can leave.”
“Well, shit.” I come around the couch and settle at one end of the spacious three-seater.
Once again, I allow her plenty of room and a choice to make.
If she chooses the other end, then she’s saying ‘stay away’.
But if she sits in the middle, then I’m another step closer to drawing her in.
“I might just eat really fuckin’ slowly, then. ”
Settling back, I make a show of groaning and burrowing into the cushions. But when she plops onto the middle cushion, my groan turns real, and my heart gives an aching thump.
Half of me gluts on how na?ve she is and how easily led she seems to be. The other half wants to shout in her face and demand she smarten the fuck up.
You’re in a dangerous man’s scope, little girl. Kick me out and lock the fucking doors. Dammit!
She kicks her shoes off and sets socked feet on the coffee table, then she leans back and lazily turns just her head to the side. “If you eat too slowly, I might take all the fries. You’ll have only yourself to blame.”
Why is she so pretty? So innocent? So fucking trusting, when I know there’s a voice in the back of her head telling her not to be. And why, when I glimpse the abrasions and complete fucking devastation on one side of her face, does anger become my one and only companion?
“I was kidding, by the way.” Looking toward the television, she rests her chin on her chest and surfs channels with barely more than a second of consideration for each. “You can eat whatever you want. And if you’re still hungry at the end, you can make a sandwich or something. It’s not so deep.”
“Sorry.” I force a chuckle along my aching throat, shoving my rage aside. “I was kidding, too. But then I got caught up thinking about your stitches.”
She frowns and gently probes the injured area with the tips of her fingers.
“Kinda made me sad, that’s all. Terrible shit happened to you, Nova. And to add insult to injury, you got gravel rash on your face and stitches that would annoy the shit out of you by now.”
“So annoying,” she murmurs, trying, I think, to smile. “They’re the dissolvable kind, so I’ve just gotta wait. Some are already falling away, but there are a few stubborn ones still holding me together. And the scrapes and stuff are scabbing, which itches, too.”
“How long were you in the hospital?” I bring my knee up and place my arm over the back of the couch, so I can turn her way, but not touch. “A while?”
Her cheeks warm again, but I’m already learning the difference between a shy blush and the absolute fucking agony she experiences every time she thinks of the accident.
“A few days, I guess. Three or four. My injuries weren’t too bad, the doctors said.
No broken bones, no internal issues. Their biggest concern was my concussion.
But I survived the first few nights, so they sent me home. ”
“What about—”
“Can I ask you a question?” Sitting tall and turning on the couch, she brings her knee up, so we could almost touch if only we were a single inch closer.
Her eyes are glassy and exhausted, her cheeks a sorry mix of blushing red and devastated pale.
White lines snake away from the wound above her brow, so each time she frowns, I know the sutures tug.
“I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t wanna.
And I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it.
But I just…” She draws a long breath, filling her lungs and expanding her chest. “I have no one else to talk to, and I’m dying keeping it all in. ”
“You can ask me anything.” I don’t know if it’s Richard Aster’s Lincoln who places a hand on her leg. Or if it’s me, the man, who can’t help but touch. But it’s my hand, no matter which way this shakes out, and my stomach, rolling with nerves. “I’ll do my best to answer.”
“Do you think it’s weird the guy who hit us is just…
” Her supple lips flatten into straight lines.
“He’s just gone. No one vanishes into thin air like that.
And a drunk driver? Someone who isn’t even thinking straight?
How could he have ducked away so easily and stayed gone, even with the police looking for him? ”
“Well—”
“And why has no one from the military called? I mean, I know Ry’s just another number to them.
Just another soldier, molded to be like all the others, so they’re hardly distinguishable from the guy on their right.
But nothing?” Her eyes swim, and, surprising us both, she reaches out to fuss with the watch on my wrist. “He’s not retired.
He wasn’t dishonorably discharged. He was on active duty, home for a couple of weeks between tours.
And now he’s dead, and it’s like he never existed. How is that okay?”
“Nova… I don’t—”
“Doesn’t it make you sad?” she snaps. “You’re just another number, too. You risk your life for them, but when you’re no longer useful, they forget you even existed?”
I think he wasn’t the soldier she believes he was. Not in the motor pool. Not even on tour when she thought he was. The files Aster sent over state that Nichols was Special Forces. Intelligence. He sure as shit wasn’t some lackey standing between mortar fire and his country.
“I think the US military is a giant moving machine,” I explain.
“With a million parts and a constant stream of priorities. Paperwork takes eons to be stamped and passed along, and a soldier dying, but not in battle, makes for a different process than the norm. I don’t think they’ve forgotten him, but I do think his paperwork is in process, and a giant fucking apology will eventually make its way to you.
He protected his country, and for that, he deserves recognition. Sadly, these things take time.”
“I can’t help but feel like he never mattered.
” She brings her hand up and swats a tear from beneath her eye.
“Like, he doesn’t matter to the military, and he doesn’t matter to the police because they’re hardly even trying to solve his case.
The accident hasn’t been on the news except for one tiny clip the evening it happened.
No one acknowledged his death, or said his name, or that he sacrificed his entire adult life for his country.
When no one came to his funeral except my friends, it felt like he didn’t matter to anyone.
But then you came, which was like a soothing balm on a nasty burn.
Finally,” she moans, “someone cares. But the balm is just a balm, Lincoln, and the burn still exists. And now Ry’s gone, and it’s just…
” She shakes her head. “How could such a good person exist, but it feels like I’m the only person who noticed? ”
“I noticed.” Shut the fuck up, Lincoln! Stay out of it, you conniving prick.
“Ryan Nichols was my best friend.” Godddd.
Shut the fuck up. “He was kind and brave and funny and a better man than I’ll ever be.
” That, at least, is true. “He existed, Nova. I assure you, he did. Because if he didn’t, how the fuck did I hear a million different stories about you? ”
She chokes out a breathy sob, only to clamp her lips shut and swallow it down again.
If lying to her is my crime, then the least I can do is bring a little peace to her soul.
“He was so fuckin’ annoying,” I joke. “Because he was obsessed with you. The baby sister he dreaded to leave. The one he worried about every single day we were gone. The one he declared the prettiest he ever knew, and how he loathed that someday, he’d have to break some hands and teach anyone who wanted you a lesson. ”